Page 37 of Sexting the Don

We dive into the workout, the familiar rhythm helping me clear my mind. Natalie’s energy is contagious, and before long, we’re both sweating and laughing, pushing each other to do just one more rep.

I’m feeling surprisingly good until suddenly, another wave of nausea hits me out of nowhere once again. I pause, trying to shake it off.

Natalie notices immediately. “Are we done?” she asks, hope lighting up her eyes. She works out because she has to, not because she likes it.

I point at her, mustering my best stern trainer voice. “Finish this set, and then hop on the treadmill for a cooldown.”

Natalie cocks her head to the side, giving me a once-over. “You look pale, Mandy. Are you okay?”

Before I can answer, the nausea intensifies, and I know I’m not going to make it.

“I’m going to be sick!” I blurt out, taking off for the bathroom.

I barely make it to the toilet before emptying my stomach with a few heaves. When I’m finally done, I sit back on my heels, wiping my mouth with a frown. What the hell?

I lean back against the cool tile, trying to piece it together. Enzo and I went to a new restaurant last night, a trendy little place in Malibu with dim lighting and a menu full of fancy dishes. Everything tasted fine, though.

Could it have been the food? I wonder if Enzo is feeling sick, too. The food was delicious, and the restaurant was upscale, so food poisoning seems unlikely.

As I sit there, my mind races through possibilities. Maybe it’s just a bug going around, or maybe I ate something that didn’t agree with me. Whatever it is, I hope it’s over quickly.

I rinse my mouth out and splash some water on my face, trying to shake off the lingering queasiness.

I head back out to the gym area, where Natalie is dutifully walking on the treadmill, though she looks more concerned about me than focused on her cooldown.

“Hey, you okay?” she asks, slowing down as I approach.

Natalie hops off the treadmill and then brings me a wet paper towel and a water bottle. “Here, this should help,” she says, handing them to me. Then she adds with a little laugh, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

The idea hits me like a lightning bolt.Pregnant? My face must show my shock because Natalie’s eyes widen. “Oh shit,” she whispers, looking at me with a mix of concern and realization.

“Could I be pregnant?” I ask, the words feeling strange and heavy as they leave my mouth. The room spins a little, and I gripthe water bottle tightly, trying to steady myself.

Nat’s words sum it up completely.

Oh shit.

Chapter 16

Enzo

What a fucking idiot.

I’m parked in my Bently on Rodeo Drive, the early afternoon sun slanting gently through the trees. My window’s cracked just enough for the cool sea air breeze to drift through the interior.

It’s another picture-perfect LA day. But I’m not here for the weather; I’m here to gain information.

And man, am I getting it.

Jimmy Charles is about as subtle as a shotgun blast in a monastery. I watch as the doors to the Prada store fling open, and the goofy motherfucker strolls out with a brand-new pair of sunglasses, wearing a big shit-eating grin on his face.

He doesn’t realize that, in a roundabout way,I’mthe one who paid for those ugly things.

I sip my coffee, my eyes locked on him as he claps hands and backslaps with the pair of lowlifes he’s come with on this little afternoon shopping trip. The guys are similarly decked out ingaudy name-brand shit, enjoying themselves on my dime.

The money’s nothing; I’m not concerned about it in the slightest. If anything, it was worth spending in order to give me access to Jimmy out in the open like this, where his guard is down.

I watch as the three men step into a nearby bistro, and the hostess leads them to a table on the bustling patio.

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